


The Mysterious Madame X

by shopfront



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Art Thief, Extra Treat, F/F, First Meetings, Flirting, Meet-Cute, Pre-Femslash, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-22 10:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12479168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/pseuds/shopfront
Summary: Being unappreciated after the war drives Peggy away from her career as an agent and into one as an art thief. Between her skills as a spy and the frequently vast underestimation of women, she slips in and out of private and public collections unnoticed for years. Until a struggling actress notices her slinking around the galleries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.





	The Mysterious Madame X

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pugglemuggle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugglemuggle/gifts).



“Isn’t she just divine?” Angie asked with a heartfelt sigh and a hand to her heart.

“Yes, I suppose she is,” the stranger replied, then began to turn away.

“I could just stare at her for hours,” Angie said, neatly stepping back just far enough to block the woman’s path. “I’m Angie,” she continued, grinning and offering a hand. “I probably shouldn’t keep you but I was admiring her from near the entrance, really wanted to take her all in before I came any closer, you know? So I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been lingering here for some time now. I just had to meet someone who could admire her as much as I do.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open and she stared for a moment as she shook Angie’s hand, but before she could gather herself to reply Angie winked.

“Can’t blame a gal for looking, really,” Angie said, still shaking their hands up and down. “I knew she’d be beautiful. I’ve had this little reproduction for just forever, took it all the way to L.A. with me and everything. It’s not a great likeness, I can see that now, but the pose is just the same and it’s even better all full sized like this. When I found out she was already hanging here in New York, well. I just had to make the trip back home to see her, didn't I?”

Angie sighed happily, turning on the spot to gaze at the painting again. She still held the woman’s hand fast, so the turn pulled them a little closer together and made Angie smile.

It was probably rude of her. Angie could see how someone might think that, she wasn’t stupid. But she was curious about what sort of person might linger in front of a painting like this one without someone alongside to giggle to about the scandalous display of skin. Not to mention she wasn’t in too much of a hurry to stop having long legs like those pressed up against her own.

“Yes, it is quite memorable,” the woman admitted after a long pause. She seemed to be eyeing off the security guard and a few other people wandering through the gallery.

At first Angie thought it was probably making her uncomfortable, another woman hanging all over her in public and all. But then all of a sudden the woman stopped trying to tug her hand away and joined Angie in painting gazing.

“She is beautiful,” the woman continued, and Angie just hummed in agreement.

“You ever gonna tell me your name?” Angie asked after a long and fairly comfortable silence. 

The woman turned her gaze from the painting back to Angie. “Where’s the fun in that?” she asked. Then, just as Angie turned to gape at her in exaggerated dismay, she suddenly winked and twisted her wrist in Angie’s grip and was free. Chuckling, Angie watched her go and then turned back to Madame X. 

However intriguing the stranger might be, Angie had a purpose today and she wasn’t about to be distracted.

*

“Hey there, English,” Angie greeted her the next day.

The woman startled slightly, and looked over her shoulder like there might be someone else behind her that Angie could be addressing. Angie just laughed. 

“I’d offer to shake your hand hello again, but after last time I figure you probably wouldn’t take me up on it,” she continued, stepping around the woman’s legs to join her on the bench. “I noticed you’re a bit skittish.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the woman said serenely with an arch expression, though Angie was pretty sure her eyes were smiling. There was a definite twinkle there, that was for sure. “You must have met another skittish person. My name is certainly not ‘English.’”

Angie grinned and leaned in sideways to bump their shoulders together. “If you’d just tell your name already,” she said sideways out of her mouth, following the woman’s gaze. She seemed to be examining the guard rotation near the entrance, which made Angie crinkle her nose and swallow a laugh. “Well, then I wouldn’t’ve have had to give you a nickname, now would I? Besides, I think English suits you.”

The woman’s lips quirked slightly at the corners, but she just smoothed out her skirt and stood.

“Am I gonna see you here again?” Angie asked, popping up to her feet as well and ready to follow her if necessary to get an answer.

“I don’t think so,” the woman said, though she did hold out her hand in farewell.

“That’s a crying shame, that is,” Angie said. But she took the woman’s hand and shook it goodbye, making sure to linger and let her fingers drag across the other woman's soft inner wrist when she pulled away.

The woman’s lips parted slightly and her tongue darted out to dampen them. Then she straightened with a jerk and finished disentangling herself. “I think I might have to agree with that,” she said quietly, but she still walked away.

Angie at least got to enjoy watching her go, not to mention the way she glanced back for a long moment when she reached the exit.

*

Angie came back the next day, and the next, and the next. But English was right, and she was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, Angie had had her fill of Madame X for the moment and she resolved to spend more time with her friends and family for the short time remaining that she would be home. Someone invited her to a niece's birthday, and someone else had a lead on an audition for her. Suddenly it was like she’d never even left.

In the end it took a full week and then some for her to make her way back to the gallery. But when she did… oh, what a reward.

English was back. This time Angie didn’t spot her camped out near the entrance, or gazing at Angie’s favourite portrait. Instead she was striding from hall to hall, her heels gently clipping the floors and her hips swaying just a little as she walked.

It was a delightful sway, to be sure. Angie threw a longing glance in the direction of where Madame X hung but was still happier to shadow English instead.

It was easier than she might have expected, too. English walked steadily but consistently from place to place, never hurrying but never dallying long either. Each time Angie turned a corner her heart was in her throat, in case English was waiting on the other side to call her out. But it never happened. She figured maybe she looked different enough all dolled up from her morning audition.

Besides, it had been awhile since they'd seen each other. English probably wasn’t expecting to be stalked through an art gallery, of all places. Right at the last moment, when they were two turns away from being back at the entrance, Angie finally turned a corner and came toe to toe with her.

“You are persistent,” English said, with smile and a raised eyebrow. “I expected you to get bored halfway through the building.”

Angie felt her cheeks flush. “Sorry, English,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “I saw you across the room and what can I say, I got curious. You never tell me anything about yourself.”

“Hmm,” English said, turning away. “Perhaps that’s deliberate.”

Angie just shook her head and chased after her. “Oh come on now, you can’t leave a girl hanging like that.”

“I really shouldn’t,” English said, still walking towards the entrance. The smile had slipped from her face, and the sudden seriousness of her air made Angie frown.

“Shouldn’t, what, get a cup of coffee with me? Tell me your actual name? Either of those would be real swell.”

English’s expression cracked for a moment, then smoothed over. “I’d like that. But I’m afraid I have somewhere to be.”

Then with that she was gone. Angie stood inside the doors and watched her leave, and then turned back with a sigh once she was out of sight. Then she noticed the time. “Shoot,” she said, and hurried back toward Madame X for one more glimpse before the gallery closed for the day.

*

Angie thought about returning for another glimpse of her mystery woman the next day. But then she remembered all the failed attempts to find her the last time she didn’t want to be found, and found she couldn’t face another failure right away.

Instead she made plans to meet one of her old neighbours for lunch first to help her steel her nerves.

“You sure you want to do this, Ange? Sounds like she barely said two words to you last time and she’s already gone and broke your heart.”

Angie just shrugged and threw back the rest of her coffee. “I’m not going back for her, Molly. I just want to make the most of my chance to see that painting. You know how much I’ve always loved that reproduction of it that I carry everywhere, it's my good luck charm. Maybe if I see her properly in her full canvas glory some more of that luck will rub off on me before my next audition.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you. Just in case?”

Angie waved her off. “You’d be bored stiff in a place like that. Don’t you worry, I’ll be just fine.”

But Angie hadn’t walked more than fifty metres past the doors when she realised there was a commotion in the building. There was a great confused knot of people milling around between her and Madame X, and when she looked around she noticed guards moving to slow people trying to leave again.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered. Standing on tiptoe didn’t reveal anything more useful than yet more harried faces and backs of heads. “All I want to do is see that painting one more time.” She huffed and dropped back down on her heels and stomped a foot slightly. “Just what I need, to not get anywhere close-“ Angie stopped still as a figure scrambled out of the crowd all elbows flying and hair in disarray, and then froze. They stared at each other for a long moment.

It was English. Then suddenly her even more mysterious than usual woman stepped forward and smoothed her hair down before looping their arms together.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said quietly, only barely loud enough for Angie to understand her. “But would you mind doing me a favour?”

Angie blinked at her, and then grinned. “Whatever you need, English.”

English grimaced. “Call me Peggy,” she directed, and then threw back her head and laughed. “Oh Angie, that’s hilarious!”

Angie blinked again, but before she could say anything suddenly there was a security guard looming over them.

“You two just arrived?” he asked gruffly.

“Oh, yes, we-“

“Just came from having lunch down the street,” Angie broke in. “Do you know the Automat? Terrible burgers, I really ought to stop eating there but I used to work there. Waited tables, you know, while I was auditioning ‘round here. I’m an actress. I live down in L.A. now and I can’t say I miss the weather but somehow whenever I’m back in town I come over all nostalgic for my old food joint and-“

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding a hand in front of him as he backed away and turned toward someone else. “You’re free to go.”

“Why, gee, thanks, sir!” Angie trilled, and then she turned back toward the doors while making sure Peggy’s hand was still tucked firmly through her elbow. “Now,” she said the second they were through the doors. “You gonna sit down with me over coffee and have a proper conversation with me for once or what?”

Peggy ducked her head. “Alright,” she said. “Should we go to that diner you just mentioned? The… Automat?”

“Oh god no,” Angie said with a grimace. “There's a much nicer place down the road, my treat. Come on!”

And this time, to her surprise, Peggy followed her.

**Author's Note:**

> The painting in this story is [Portrait of Madame X](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portrait_of_Madame_X) by John Singer Sargent, which was bought by the Met in 1916.


End file.
